


glass & air

by ceraunos



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Ice, Ice Skating, M/M, Post-Canon, Snow, Winter, festive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 05:45:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17016846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceraunos/pseuds/ceraunos
Summary: winter prompt fill for 'thin fucking ice'in which it's christmas eve, old men bicker and James shows off.





	glass & air

Boredom, like a stiff, itchy blanket, is slowly suffocating Thomas. He flicks a nut at James, missing him by half an inch and James starts awake with a jolt and a frown.

‘Fuck off,’ James huffs.

‘You’re being very dull company.’

James grunts, already shutting his eyes again and shifting in the old, sunken chair.

‘It’s Christmas eve. We should do something.’

‘Read a book.’

Thomas sighs, wandering to their bedroom in the hope of some inspiration to quell his restlessness. If the door shuts with a little more force than necessary, it’s perhaps only because a draft caught it.

Daytime sleeping has become a staple part of their routine in the last few years, and Thomas wouldn’t usual begrudge James his rest, except that it  _ is _ Christmas and something nostalgic about him says that there used to be more celebration than this. He remembers parties full of so many voices that conversation never stilled for a moment, raging fires and bottomless punch bowls; remembers being drunk enough the stairs seemed to move below him, Miranda’s arm barely enough support to find his bed.

Lost in memory, he barely notices the door opening when James appears a moment later, loitering at the entrance.

‘What do you want to do, then?’ he says, a little sharp.

‘I miss it,’ Thomas barely whispers, and he knows James doesn’t have to ask what he means by the way his whole demeanour transforms. Thomas doesn’t look as he comes to sit beside him, wrapping his hands around Thomas’. It’s only when he feels lips, age softened and warm, against his temple that he turns, and finds James watching him with sad eyes.

‘Let’s go out.’

~

‘This cold’s giving my knee jip.’ James moans not ten foot from the house. Thomas tuts, sympathetically; it is very cold, the kind of frozen dampness that leaves a bright taste in the air, and his own joints feel stiff at the idea of it.

‘It’ll probably snow, later.’

‘The road to town’ll flood again. I left a life of endlessly wet toes behind me for this shit.’

‘I only got our boots resoled last year.’

‘Still.’

‘Oh hush.’ Thomas knocks his shoulder into James, unbalancing him only slightly. James shoves back. Thomas grins at him, and he laces their fingers together, swinging them in time to their steps.

They’re one of the last houses from the town, part of a lonely outcrop of land, and the unmarked path from their garden leads straight out into wild lands, a rolling sea of gorse and rocky peaks that loom out of low clouds. As they walk, to Thomas, James becomes almost a figment of the landscape, a shared untameable ruggedness binding him to the beautiful barrenness. Thomas loves it out here, between low grey skies and worn earth; loves the biting sting of wind and the swirl of mountain air, with each step he becomes less a man made only of memories.

In the darkening light the stream appears to be black silver, a path of dull glass carved through rock. As they get closer it transforms, becoming a thick sheet of ice trapping the last of the cowering sun. Thomas nudges it, curiously, with his toes and it creaks but remains firm.

‘Do you remember,’ James says, ‘the year the Thames froze?’

‘Oh God, the frost fair. Yes!’

‘Do you know, until that winter, I believed you infallibly graceful.’

Thomas knows exactly what James is referring to and groans. ‘It was only a little slip.’

‘You knocked over an entire roasting pig. And the wine stand.’

‘Oh fuck off, I’d like to see you do better now.’ Thomas gestures to the frozen stream.

‘Fine.’ James rises to the challenge beautifully, stubbornness blooming. He barely tests the ice before stepping on.

He twirls, pivoting on his toes and heal, something that was once a military turn become both more and less precise. He comes to a halt chest to chest with Thomas.

‘See?’

He takes Thomas’ hand, pulling him onto the ice and twirling them together, an arm securely around his waist.

‘Mm. Alright,’ Thomas says, pressing a freezing palm to James’. ‘It’s hardly skating though.’

James takes off at a run, flying a few paces over the ice then landing, skidding to a halt so far ahead he almost disappears around a bend in the stream.

‘Better?’ he calls.

‘I suppose.’

‘You’re a very hard man to please.’

‘I’ve been led to have high expectations.’

‘Come here,’ James’ voice is almost lost to a wail of wind that brings in the first light flecks of snow.

‘Come back.’

‘Not until you come here. Surely you can’t really be so terrible at it?’

Thomas bites his lip. Another flurry of snow stings against his cheek. Something below him creaks. He takes a step. The creak turns into a crunch.

‘James.’

Another step, a splintering sound.

‘Hurry up, I’m fucking freezing,’ James calls.

‘I think -’

‘It’s just like polished wood.’ James starts back toward Thomas. The surface under Thomas’ feet buckles.

‘Stop!’

‘What?’

‘The ice -’

It’s too late. Thomas springs aside, landing on the muddy banking, as the stream fractures, frigid water spilling up from the cracks.

‘Fuck. Fuck.’ Thomas turns, sees James submerged waist deep in what seems to be more of a river than a stream. ‘Fucking thin fucking ice.’

Thomas holds out a hand for him and laughs.

Later, lying beside a fire and wrapped in all the blankets they own, James laughs too.

~

The next winter the ground freezes harder and longer than they’ve ever known, a stubborn frost that wraps the world in white. When Thomas brings home two pairs of roughly made skates, James grins and vows to make Thomas test the ice first.

**Author's Note:**

> this is mildly anachronistic, the thames froze in 1709, so they wouldn't have actually experienced a frost fair together.
> 
> If anyone wants to join in with the winter prompts countdown, the list is [here](http://ceraunos.tumblr.com/post/180381811328/black-sails-winter-prompts) x


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